Yellow Trees
by TheCartoonFanatic01
Summary: When Marge and the kids are kidnapped by an enemy who is like none other that the Simpson family has ever encountered, Homer must find a way to play his game of madness and retribution while rescuing his family as well as all of Springfield. But in order to do so, he must look into himself. Is he really an effective, committed husband and father? DISCONTINUED, SORRY!
1. Prologue

**A/N:** Hey, everyone! As you can see here, I have made yet another "Simpsons" story, despite the fact that I have YET to finish "Return to Springfield". However, I have been making announcements in "The Thompsons" and "Return to Springfield" that a brand-new story was in the works, and that it was scheduled to be released after the Season 24 finale. So, of course, I went through with those announcements!

And now that Season 24 has come to a close, signaling the start of Season 25 (and the silver anniversary of that sitcom that just CANNOT die), this is a little something fans can rely on as a filler while they wait for the upcoming season: a story of suspense and adventure, with the usual familial themes. Trust me, everyone, this story is gonna be good. It'll keep you at the edge of your seat even with this chapter!

Enough Grandpa-style rambling! ENJOY!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own "The Simpsons"! Matt Groening and co. do! Happy 25th anniversary, guys!

* * *

The fresh, green blades of grass and the flimsy stalks of dandelions waved as a breeze swept through a wide field. The bright yellow sun, unhindered by a small bank of clouds nearby, illuminated the landscape with its rays of warm sunlight, giving everything a yellowish tinge to it. A rabbit scurried across the grass, past a few small bushes, and dove under the safe cover of its hole as a hawk flew through the sky, letting out a high-pitched screech that pierced the air. Rustling sounds can be heard everywhere from the waving plants and the soothingly soft whisper of the breeze.

There was a single, narrow road cutting across this field, with a row of wooden poles of overhead power lines standing at one side of it. There were only two lanes to the road, one for vehicles driving northward, the other for southward-traveling vehicles. Driving down one of these lanes was a row of five SUVs, all colored in identical shades of black. Accompanying the SUVs was a slight sound of crunching asphalt; the road wasn't all that well-maintained for the past couple of years.

The SUVs passed a sign that read 'Springfield: 20 Miles: Please Lower Your Expectations'.

Inside the third SUV were five people: the driver, the man sitting in the passenger seat, and the trio of people sitting in the backseat. The person sitting in the middle of said backseat had a black sack draped over his head, obscuring all facial features. His hands were tied behind his back with zip-ties. The two men sitting next to him were aiming rifles at him, obvious leverage for the person they were transporting.

After driving a few more miles, the SUVs turned right and entered the grassy field, driving through a small trail, leaving a cloud of dust behind them.

"How much longer?" the man sitting in the passenger asked as he examined a small burlap sack that he was holding; it was occupied by something.

"Just a few more miles..." replied the driver.

The man with the sack draped over his head moved slightly and uncomfortably. A whimper traveled through the sack, but he regained his composure and remained in a calm position, knowing that he was gonna get what he came for.

Several minutes passed, and the five SUVs were, at this point, nearing a large dirt-field. Already there were three other SUVs, all of them parked alongside each other and the passengers out and awaiting their arrival. All but one of them were holding rifles. The unarmed man, who was at the front of the group and was obviously the leader, had neatly-combed brown hair and a brown goatee; wore a bright-violet suit with a red-and-dark-blue-striped tie and a pin of an American flag, blue jeans, and dark sunglasses; and was currently smirking in triumph as the new group of SUVs drove onto the dirt-field and slowly came to a stop.

The passengers of all five SUVs got out; there were five for each SUV, including one person with a sack over his or her head. The brown-haired man wearing the brown suit and the dark sunglasses looked at the masked man from the third SUV. Seeing that this person was wearing a white T-shirt and blue jeans, and had an extremely fat build, his smirk widened, and he nodded to the rest of his men, all of whom promptly lowered their rifles.

"We got 'em, boss," announced one of the visitors as several of the others roughly pushed the five captives to the dirty ground. "They surrendered without resistance, just like you said they would. It was easy pickings."

"Good," the boss replied, approaching the captives as they struggled to stand up on their knees. He unmasked the nearest one, revealing a man with unkempt gray hair and a gray mustache, wearing a dark-gray suit with a red tie, an olive-green jacket, and cracked glasses. "Hollis Hurlbut. Head of the Springfield Historical Society. What do you have to say about these current developments?"

"You'll never win," spat Hurlbut as one of the men, the one holding the small burlap sack, handed it to the boss. "

"Hm. Perfect words of a courageous soul. But-" He suddenly whipped out a pistol and struck Hurlbut in the forehead with its metallic butt, sending him back onto the ground, stunned. "-like I say, courage can only get you this far. Now-" The boss walked up to the next captive. "-who do we have here?"

"You let my little girl go, you darn bastard!" a Southern-accented voice shouted from underneath the sack. The boss chuckled and unmasked the captive, a red-haired, slack-jawed man wearing a white tank-top and blue jeans, and sporting a snake tattoo on his left arm.

"Hello, Spuckler," the boss greeted. "I apologize. We were planning to bring your daughter over, but fortunately for you, she escaped our clutches. ...Or so we think..." Cletus gritted his teeth, but the boss ignored it. He turned to the other three captives. "But I believe we still kept the end of our deal with Homer Simpson..."

"You have my family?" asked one of them.

Grinning, the boss walked forward and unmasked the other three hostages, one by one. The first to be unmasked was a man with unkempt, pale-brown hair, and an unshaven face, wearing shabby clothing consisting of an old, torn, grimy pale-purple business shirt, a large dark-brown jacket, and torn gloves. The next one was an elderly man with a severely wrinkled, almost shrunken-looking face, wearing a light-tan sweater and gray sweatpants. The last was the fat man; he had a bald head, save for strands on his temples and two at the top.

"Of course, Homer," replied the boss. "Like I said, I'm a man of my word!" He turned to his men. "Go ahead, bring 'em out."

Four of the men nodded and approached one of the three SUVs, opening up the back doors and dragging four people out; all of them were restrained by zip-ties like Homer and the others. All five of the captives gasped at the sight of the other four hostages, Homer especially frightened by the prospect.

"Marge!" Homer cried. "Kids!"

"Homer!" Marge cried back. She, Bart, and Lisa all wore beaten, sunken forms, with their hair overlong and sagging, their yellow skins colored in sickeningly pale, and their complexions frail-looking. Fortunately, baby Maggie looked the least affected of the family, the only thing off-putting was the fact she had been crying for a period of time, her eyes still wet and red, her cheeks puffy.

"Grandpa!" Bart and Lisa exclaimed simultaneously. "Unky Herb!"

"Oh, thank _God_ you're all right!" exclaimed Homer in relief.

The boss suddenly smirked again. "Not anymore," he said.

He snapped his fingers, and the same four men that retrieved Marge and the children from the SUV forced them to their knees. Next thing Homer knew, the men aimed their rifles at his family, including Maggie. Marge began gasping in shock, as if she was being deprived of air. Bart began trembling severely. Lisa and Maggie began to cry their loudest. The boss's smirk widened in sadistic pleasure at the development.

Feeling his heart hammer against his rib-cage, Homer stood up, but one of the men behind him stepped forward and knocked him back down to the ground by striking him hard with his rifle. Colors exploded in the corners of his eyes, and the rotund man could only watch in sheer terror as the four men holding Marge and the children at gunpoint readied their weapons to fire. His eyes widened as he realized what they were planning to do.

"Wait, WAIT!" Homer screamed. "You said you'd give them back to me if I gave you the silver tongue! You said so!"

"I said I'd let you _reunite_ with them," replied the boss. "I didn't say anything specific on releasing them _alive_." He stepped up to Homer's fallen form and kicked him hard in the stomach, causing him to yell out in utmost pain while his wife and kids cringed. "It's nothing personal, really. I'm just following orders. If you have a problem with me killing your family in cold blood, you'd better take it up with my host and benefactor."

"What?" Homer looked up at the boss. "Y-You're _not_ the Master Manipulator?"

"I'm glad to see we're on equal terms now. No, I'm not him; I'm merely his mask, his acting commander. But it doesn't matter if you caught on now. What matters is the fact that you FAILED your family." He turned to his men and nodded. "Go on ahead."

"No, no, no!" pleaded Homer. "**WAIT**!"

"**HOMIE!**" screamed Marge.

"**DAD!**" Bart and Lisa screamed.

Maggie dropped her pacifier and wailed.

A blend of gunfire and Homer's screams shattered the atmosphere like a glass cup dropped to the floor. A flock of crows perched on the 'Springfield: 20 Miles: Please Lower Your Expectations' sign overheard the sounds and flew off into the sky, cawing out in horror.

* * *

_**A week earlier**_

Marge drove past the 'Springfield: 20 Miles: Please Lower Your Expectations' sign, her mind currently in emotional turmoil. She recognized her love and commitment to Homer, with whom she would celebrate her tenth anniversary with today, but her thoughts were always interrupted by ones concerning Ben, a charismatic, impossibly nice man she accidentally met on an online website for people who wanted to cheat on their spouses. He was nice, but his intent on interfering with her marriage was getting out of hand, and it was obviously started to affect her. After all, Ben was everything she wanted in a husband: nice, caring, and sharing common interests.

But Homer was _her_ Homer, no matter what obstacles threatened their relationship, and she was not gonna let this love go.

"I'm gonna do what I've done at every key point of my life," she said to herself. "Suck it in, and smile!" And with that, she effortlessly forced a wide smile on her face.

It took her a few hours to get home, but she made the trip. Stepping out of her sedan, still wearing her smile, Marge looked around, hoping that Homer had sent her to Drug Town to refill his prescription so he can prepare a surprise for their anniversary. However, the front yard was empty and devoid of any sign of life. Becoming a bit worried, she looked up at the window of the master bedroom she shared with Homer, only to find the light out.

_"Probably sleeping..."_ Marge thought sadly, but before she could dwell on her thoughts further, her ears were intruded by the sound of a train whistling. Seconds later, a yellow light exploded in her eyes, causing her to flinch briefly.

"What the-?" began Marge, but she was cut short when she spotted a toy steam-train roll into the front yard. It was colored in magnificent patterns of shades of blue and purple, and several aspects of it were shaped like candy canes and ice-cream cones. On both sides of the engine were words written in a cursive font, which read _'The Majestic Marge'_.

Adjusting her sights, Marge realizes that it was Homer driving the train, and Bart, Lisa, and Maggie were all riding in one of the passenger cabs.

"**HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!**" they all greeted with all of their might (sans Maggie, of course).

As she got a better look at the train, Marge gasped at its familiarity. It was the same train she and Homer rode on nine years ago, on their first anniversary. It was on that very train, then named _'Li'l Lisa'_, that they conceived the baby they would later name Lisa in memory of that very experience.

"Oh, my God, our _train_," she said in awe, looking at Homer lovingly. She took his face in her palms and looked into his eyes; his eyes, along with hers, sparkled brighter than the nighttime stars. "Homie, you _do_ care! You care a lot. What a _wonderful_ anniversary!"

Marge promptly hopped onto Homer's lap, as he asked jokingly, "Do you think we'll last _twenty-five years_?"

"Nothing should," Bart replied coolly, looking off somewhere.

The train drove off toward the backyard as Homer and Marge continued to feel content in each other's company. As the train rounded the corner with a whistle, Marge could only think of one thing and one only.

_"Yes, no matter what, _nothing _can get in the way of my life. _Nothing_."_

* * *

Little did anyone (the Simpson family or any of the other anniversary guests) notice that there was someone taking pictures of them from the cover of a violet van. Also inside that van were many pictures of the Simpson family during their many escapades and misadventures.

The hostage situation at the First Bank of Springfield, where Marge was one of the hostages.

Homer preparing to commit suicide by jumping off of the Suicide Bridge.

The family with Mona Simpson's ashes at Springfield Monument Park.

The family meeting Alberto and Sylvia at the cabins.

Lisa at the crossword tournament.

Homer and Marge at their third remarriage.

Bart, Lisa, and Charlie emerging from the snowbank.

Bart and Milhouse venturing into the abandoned subway system.

Lisa sleeping beside the beached blue whale.

Mr. Burns attempting to seal Springfield under a dome.

Moe and Smithers reconstructing Moe's Tavern into a gay bar.

Homer and Bart being taught by a fired Dr. Zander.

Homer, Bart, Principal Skinner, Patty, Moe, and Professor Frink breaking into the publishing company's headquarters.

The family being kicked out of Springfield by the townspeople.

The family strapped onto Frink's 'dream machine'.

The family at New York City to find Mary Spuckler.

A sleepwalking Homer writing 'Hope' in syrup on one of the backyard trees.

Homer, Moe, and Lenny at Iceland, looking for Carl.

All of those pictures had one strand of violet thread, secured by a pin at one side, stretching toward a single photo, where the other end was secured by another pin.

The photo was of a Simpson family portrait, which was crudely crossed out with an X.

* * *

**A/N:** Intriguing, eh? As for those who will worry, don't, 'cause Marge, Bart, Lisa, and Maggie all SURVIVE. I will tell you that, just so to combat all the potential ragers. I will not tell you how, though. And commenting on the strange title, there is a deeper meaning to it. Yellow and trees will be recurring through the story. It's a thematic process I am experimenting with.

Well, hope you enjoyed this shocking chapter! TheCartoonFanatic01 is out. PEACE!


	2. Meeting with the President

**A/N:** Sorry for the slightly long wait, guys. Updates on the story are gonna be sporadic, I gotta warn you. Writing "Phineas and Ferb" stories are my better specialty, but I'll try to get to this one whenever I have the time! ENJOY!

* * *

President Arnold Schwarzenegger wasn't in the brightest of moods today. In fact, the past year had been a total disaster for him. Ever since he became the President of the United States, courtesy of some tweaked voting polls, a lot of responsibilities had suddenly been thrust onto his shoulders, bearing the weight of a ton of bricks. Natural disasters, current wars, raging debates, a barrage of new laws to sign, and, most of all, public dissatisfaction had taken a toll on him. Now, his yellow skin was giving off a slightly pearly-pale glow, his nicely-combed crop of brown hair was a bit longer and stringier, and there were wrinkles under his eyes and on his cheeks. TV news channels had to rely on CGI effects to make their President more pleasurable in physical viewing.

Currently sitting in the Oval Office, Schwarzenegger effortlessly turned his wheeled chair around 180 degrees, and he looked out of the window. Night had fallen upon Washington, D.C., and there a bank of storm-clouds silently and slowing but steadily and menacingly looming towards the Capital, beginning to obscure the moon and the stars present in the sky. The President let out what could possibly be his ten-thousandth sigh of the day; he hoped that this wasn't some godforsaken snowstorm. A couple of months ago, a severe snowstorm struck an area of D.C., and Schwarzenegger did nothing during the recovery efforts but blunder as he unsuccessfully tried to assure his people that the original image of their neighborhoods and public areas would be revived.

_"Oh, why, why'd I take this job again?"_ mused Schwarzenegger in the confines of his mind. _"Note to self: fake my assassination before the term ends."_

Just then, a beeping sound issued from his desktop intercom, stirring Schwarzenegger from his bitter thoughts. "Mr. President," said the droning, almost robotic voice of his secretary, "the head of the Environmental Protection Agency is here to see you."

Schwarzenegger's eyes widened, and once again, he sighed. Of all the people he had to meet up with, _why_ did it have to be the head of the EPA?

His mind still possessed fresh memory of the fiasco involving the previous head of the organization, Russell "Russ" Cargill. A successful, all-American businessman with an affinity for environmentalism and politics, he was initially seen by the actor-turned-governor-turned-President as possibly one of his few actual successes. Under the supervision of Cargill, the EPA imposed a stronger enforcement on the preservation of wildlife and the safety of the Earth's natural resources.

Then came the Trappucino Scandal.

A small town in the middle of nowhere called Springfield had come under the EPA's radar after a dim-witted citizen severely polluted its trademark lake with a silo of pig feces, endangering all of the natural resources that surrounded it and therefore posing as a potential threat to the resources of other communities nearby. To remedy the situation, Schwarzenegger had Cargill seal the town off in a dome made of impenetrable safety glass, without actually reading the order he signed, or considering all of the Constitutional rights that would be violated on the townspeople's parts. It would've struck a fatal blow to Schwarzenegger's Presidential administration.

The move worked for a few days. Then, the same citizen who polluted the lake, along with his family of four, managed to find a way to escape, through a conveniently-placed sinkhole. In fear of having the trapping of Springfield exposed and the resultant compromising of his position, a maddened Cargill manipulated Schwarzenegger in ordering the bombing of Springfield without having knowledge of the details of what he approved. It would've been successful if it weren't for the ironic intervention of the citizen who started the entire fiasco, who grabbed the bomb and threw it out of a hole in the dome, destroying said dome and freeing the town.

With the townspeople free, the government's approval of their secretive imprisonment was exposed to the world, and Schwarzenegger was especially hit hard by the scandal, called Trappucino. He was only able to avoid impeachment by pinning all of the blame on Cargill, who had at this point been rendered a quadriplegic following an encounter with a mere one-year-old infant. Congress fired Cargill, and he was replaced by Ethan Kurtz, a self-described every-man who Schwarzenegger met once for only a couple of minutes and therefore didn't know him well.

"Send him in," replied Schwarzenegger, letting out a sigh.

Seconds later, the door opened, revealing Ethan Kurtz himself. Schwarzenegger could never forget his peculiar style of clothing from the time he met him; Kurtz's odd, bright-violet suit with a red-and-dark-blue tie made him stand out from the rest of the politicians. Adjusting the pin of the American flag he was wearing and stroking his neatly-combed brown hair and goatee, Kurtz stepped towards Schwarzenegger's desk melodramatically.

"Ah, if it isn't the man of the hour!" exclaimed Kurtz in greeting as he walked up to Schwarzenegger, who was looking at him inquisitively. "The President of the United States! It's an honor, really, to meet up with you at this time. I'm quite a fan of your exploits!"

"I doubt it," Schwarzenegger remarked bitterly.

"Oh, don't say that about yourself, Mr. President! It's not like in every election you redefine the standards of becoming the President of this great country! I know there were some people who didn't approve of your election, but honestly, I think that it's _great_ to have an influential Hollywood star like you taking helm of American's most treasured seat. I have always felt that you would use your experience from acting in action movies in guiding this country through the worst of wars and the greatest of tragedies. And I'm pretty sure that deep down, every American thinks so as well."

Schwarzenegger continued to frown. He didn't like the way Kurtz was sucking up to him. He remembered Cargill committing to a similar tactic...

"Cut the sycophantic sentiments and get to the point," he snapped. "What could be so important today that would prompt you to meet up with me at this time?" The hulking man stood from his chair and paced around his office as Kurtz watched cautiously. "I have a workload on my hands, Mr. Kurtz. Being the President of the United States necessitates NOTHING from my experience as an action star, and trust me, I learned it the hard way. Mr. Kurtz, I am an impatient man, and you are disrupting my schedule, so-" He finally glared at the EPA head. "-get on with it."

Getting the message immediately, Kurtz cleared his throat and spoke in an imposing, businesslike voice. "Mr. President, I am pretty sure that you are aware of all the events that have transpired during the past few months, is that correct?"

Schwarzenegger's skin turned paler than before, but he replied coolly, "I can recall them perfectly, Mr. Kurtz. Trust me, I wish I wouldn't, though." He stared out of the office window again, as the clouds began to completely obscure the moon. "The Trappucino Scandal nearly cost me this administration. Not the fondest memory of my experience in this job." He turned back to Kurtz, a suspicious glare shadowing his face. "Why do you bring it up, Mr. Kurtz?"

Kurtz smiled and procured a rolled-up sheet from his pocket, unfurling it smoothly and displaying it to Schwarzenegger. The President identified it as the bottom half of some sort of painting of a person, likely made during the late 18th century. However, the face of this person wasn't shown, puzzling Schwarzenegger.

"What in James Cameron's name is _this_, Mr. Kurtz?" he demanded.

"The bottom half of a 1796 painting of George Washington, sir," replied Kurtz expertly. "Painted by Gilbert Stuart, there has been little evidence as to what happened to this half of the painting, or its current whereabouts. However, I received an anonymous tip leading me to the bottom half, which was located in none other than the very Springfield that you encased in a glass dome half a year ago."

Schwarzenegger's skin paled again. "And why do you present this to me?"

Kurtz promptly turned the sheet around, presenting a blank space that had been written upon.

"The founder of Springfield was a Marylander named Jebediah Obadiah Zachariah Jedediah Springfield, who has been stated by many to have been a strong advocate of chastity, abstinence, and something called 'root-marm' and a critical opponent of marriage between cousins. He was beloved by the townspeople, and still is to this very day. He is their everlasting hero and town symbol of stability!

"But this very sheet that is before you is stone-cold _proof_ that Jebediah Springfield is _not_ the hero the people believed him to be. This thing here is a confession written by the man himself, who reveals himself to be a villainous, bloodthirsty pirate and enemy of George Washington, Hans Sprungfeld, who had tried to kill Washington but failed, taking this half of the portrait with him and using it as a paper for his confession!"

"And your point in showing me this is?..." Schwarzenegger asked, beckoning Kurtz to continue.

"The Trappucino Scandal has totally devastated public opinion of you, Mr. President. There is no guarantee that you will be reelected for a second term in office way as much as you'd be a success in acting in family-comedy films. And we all know that you desire for a second term; that way, you won't go down in history as one of those one-shot Presidents like Van Buren or Fillmore or Taft!

"_But_ the only way to restore public opinion of you is to discredit Springfield, the very town that ruined you!" Kurtz waved the portrait half at Schwarzenegger with a lot of emphasis. "If we expose Springfield's founder as a liar, then America will turn on the town, believing that its citizens are liars too!"

Schwarzenegger blinked and found himself nodding in slight approval.

"That sounds like a good plan," said the President. Then, he frowned. "But people won't believe just a simple sheet of paper."

"I am well aware of that, Mr. President," Kurtz replied as he put away the sheet in his pocket. "Which comes back to my motivation in meeting up with you. Not only do I wish to inform you of this matter, but I want your approval in conducting an EPA-led widespread search through Springfield. See, the same anonymous tip that led me to this sheet has also informed me of Sprungfeld's trademark silver tongue, a distinguishing characteristic. Retrieving the tongue and showing it to America will be the driving stake that will nail the coffin shut on Springfield and its credibility! However, I could not find the tongue.

"By conducting this search, we will be able to find the tongue efficiently, and we will bring it to you. And then, you can just say hello to your second term! To get things going, though, you only need to state your approval of the search. We will cover it up by saying there's a dangerous chemical hidden somewhere in town. Springfield's nuclear power plant has a history of illegal disposal of highly-toxic chemicals, so it would be an authentic cover-statement.

"So, what say you, Mr. President?"

Schwarzenegger thought about it for a moment. On one hand, he didn't want to stick his nose against into that godforsaken town, after what terrible consequences it inflicted upon his Presidential career. On the other hand, he knew Kurtz was right: he didn't want to lose during reelection, and his best chance at securing victory was to discredit the town that had brought absolute shame to him.

"Very well," Schwarzenegger replied at last. "Conduct the search. Utilize the cover-up with the dangerous chemical. No stone un-turned, do you understand, Kurtz?"

"I understand very much, Mr. President," said Kurtz, nodding and smiling as he coolly backed out of the Oval Office, pointing at Schwarzenegger. "I knew I could count on you to approve my suggestion. Say hello to your second term, Mr. President, second term!"

And with that, Kurtz had left the Oval Office without another word. Schwarzenegger sighed, this time with some content, as he walked over to his chair and collapsed on it. He could unanimously conclude that Kurtz was WAY better than Cargill.

* * *

As he walked away from the Oval Office and cleared his departure with Schwarzenegger's secretary, Kurtz took out his cell phone from his other pocket, quickly dialed a number, and put the phone to his ear in wait for the person on the other end of the line to respond.

"Hello?" a voice finally asked.

"I got to him," replied Kurtz. "He fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. It didn't take long for him to approve of my suggestion."

"Very good, Kurtz, very good. Just as I expected it to be. Now, time to commence with the next part of the operation."

"Yes, sir." Kurtz hung up on the phone and walked down the hallway, his lips curving into a smirk of pure malice.

* * *

**A/N:** So, it looks like the EPA's involved! :O And as for the 'next part of the operation', you'll have to stay tuned and find out what it is exactly. :D

I'd like to thank the following for reviewing:

**Da Darkest Knight:** Great accomplishment, man, great accomplishment! :D

**Sweet20s12:** Yeah, I'm sorry about the absence. Life keeps getting in the way, and plus, I love writing P&F all the time.

**damonika2009:** Oh, you'll see! Just stay tuned!

**Lisa (guest reviewer):** ... ... ...Huh?...

**Sideshow Cellophane 26:** I already responded to your review ahead of time, so I'll just say thanks! Oh, and BTW, you're gonna love the next chapter I have in store, trust me! ;D ;D ;D ;D ;D

Well, hope you enjoyed this chapter! TheCartoonFanatic01 is out. PEACE!


	3. Amassing an Operation

**A/N:** Hm, so much for sporadic updating. Anyway, any spoken dialogue in bold means that the person is speaking in a foreign language. For example: **"Read this."**

* * *

The Springfield International Airport was experiencing yet another busy and repetitive day, as usual. Airplanes landed and departed on the runway, travelers walked into and out of the terminals, loudspeakers mechanically announced the status of certain flights, people stood by the baggage carousels in wait of their luggage that might or might not appear, and the Little Black Box was occupied by several pilots who were laughing drunkenly as they consumed alcoholic beverages with no repentance.

A pair of rather shabby and peculiar-looking men stepped out of the airport, dragging their luggage behind them. One was tall and thin, sporting unkempt brown hair, a long nose, and an unshaven face; he wore a pale-blue long-sleeved shirt, a blue waistcoat, and gray jeans. The other was shorter and stockier, with brown hair growing at the temples, stringy hair sticking out of the dark-blue cap he wore, and a mustache of stringy hair; he wore the aforementioned cap, a gray long-sleeved shirt, a brown waistcoat, and bright-blue jeans. Their uncleanliness and grubby demeanor attracted multiple pairs of eyes that stared at them curiously and in wonder at how a couple of assumed hobos can possibly afford air-travel expenses.

The tall and thin man spoke to his companion in French. **"We're here, Uncle Cesar, we're here. Now we're officially Americans."**

**"It'd better be worth it,"** replied the shorter man, also speaking in French. **"I don't really have a positive outlook on this country."** He promptly glanced to his right and spotted a nearby payphone, pointing at it. **"There, there's the payphone he told us about. You have the American money sent to us, Ugolín?"**

Ugolín nodded curtly, reached into his pocket, and produced two quarters. The two men walked up to the payphone, to which Ugolín inserted the quarters into the coin-slot before taking out a piece of paper from his other pocket. Dialing the numbers written on the paper, the Frenchman waited for a response. It didn't take long until the voice of the person that he was forced to call his 'pen pal' spoke; he had a British accent.

"Hello?"

"We're here," Ugolín replied, using English now.

"Ah, marvelous, Ugolín, marvelous! And just in time too. Now, do you have the address I sent you?"

Ugolín flipped the piece of paper over; an address was indeed written on it.

"Yes."

"Good. Remember, you've got only twelve hours to manufacture your explosives. It's a shame your flight from Iceland had to be delayed."

"No worries. My uncle and I are deft at making bombs as much as we can make wine." Ugolín smiled maliciously. "You know, it's great to be in your company. I've been following your exploits for quite some time. Oh, how I can't wait till we team up on _you-know-who_..." The Frenchman issued the last three words with the most bitter of contempt and loathing; Cesar shifted uncomfortably, reeling from an unpleasant memory.

"Yes, it would be quite an excellent sequence, my dear Ugolín, worthy of being conceived by the tragedians. But remember, we have specific instructions: we CANNOT let our grudges take the best of us, lest we wish to allow it to cloud our judgment. After all, _I_ should know that. ...We are being paid handsomely for this, Ugolín. If we are to get what we want, then we must cooperate with our benefactors and the terms they offer. Is that understood?"

"Understood," Ugolín replied bitterly. He then hung up and walked away from the payphone, closely followed by Cesar.

* * *

"Yes, it would be quite an excellent sequence, my dear Ugolín, worthy of being conceived by the tragedians. But remember, we have specific instructions: we CANNOT let our grudges take the best of us, lest we wish to allow it to cloud our judgment. After all, _I_ should know that. ...We are being paid handsomely for this, Ugolín. If we are to get what we want, then we must cooperate with our benefactors and the terms they offer. Is that understood?"

"Understood." This was quickly followed by Ugolín's line going dead.

Smiling in satisfaction, Robert Underdunk Terwilliger, more popularly known, to his contempt, as 'Sideshow Bob', hung up as well. He then walked onto the prison yard, his abnormally long feet creating small clouds of dust as he took one step after another. The stage actor-turned-criminal mastermind approached the rest of his family, all of whom were silently waiting for him as they sat on or stood near a wooden bench. There was his parents, Robert Terwilliger, Sr., and Judith Underdunk Terwilliger; his younger brother, Cecil; his wife, Francesca; and their beloved son, Gino.

"How'd it go, brother?" Cecil asked. "Did the two Frenchmen make it here?"

"They did, Cecil," replied Bob. "Just as I expected. Sure, there was an untimely delay that is ensured to compromise their scheduling, but I have complete confidence in those two." His smile widened. "Tomorrow morning, we break out of here. Spread the word to the others. I shall call our dear friend to inform him of this development."

The rest of the Terwilliger family nodded, and all of them walked off in different directions.

* * *

Robert and Judith approached a man who was unsuccessfully using an exercise set at a corner of the prison yard. He had curly black hair and a face full of easy anger as he attempted to lift weights, only to be met with less-than-satisfactory results due to his thin frame. The two Terwilliger elders knew him as Junior, a man who held an undying grudge against Homer Simpson, who was indirectly responsible for the death of his father, Frank Grimes.

"Hello, Junior," greeted Robert.

"Frank, doc, _Frank_!" snarled the former mechanic as he stared the elderly couple down with uncontrollable fury and a hint of unhinged mentality. "You know how much I despise that other name! No, I prefer only Frank, or Grimes if you wish to be more formal with me!"

Judith sighed disapprovingly. Everyone knew that the poor man's birth-name was indeed Junior, but every time people called him by that name, he would go crazy and demand that people call him by the name of his father. It had become a bit of a trademark of his.

"Okay then, Junior," Robert continued, "how's the weather today?"

Junior recognized the message immediately and replied, "It's quite rainy out here. What's on our way tomorrow?"

"Oh, it'll be sunny, very sunny," Judith said casually. Junior smiled and nodded in understanding.

* * *

"Vendetta, vendetta!" chorused Gino, giggling maniacally.

"Yes, Gino," Francesca replied as she walked towards a pair of people talking beside the prison fence. "We will have our vendetta soon."

One of the people Francesca was approaching, a woman with smooth black hair and a seductive smile, noticed her approaching.

"So, what's the news?" the woman asked.

"Good things will happen tomorrow, Julia," replied Francesca simply.

The attention of the other person, a man with an unshaven face, a scar on his cheek, and long brown hair tied back into a ponytail, was piqued.

"YES!" he exclaimed happily. "YES, YES, **YES**! NOW I CAN FINALLY HAVE REV-"

"Shut up!" whispered Francesca, looking over her shoulder and inspecting a couple of prison guards. Fortunately, they were distracted by donuts. "Adrian, I know you are willing to get back at that Marge Simpson for beating you up in front of a lot of people, but you gotta keep it together! One slip and the operation's compromised!"

"But that bitch got my Goofy hat taken away from me!" Adrian whined angrily, absentmindedly feeling his hair, as if expecting his hat to magically reappear.

"Trust me, you'll have your revenge, and so will you, Julia. But you gotta wait, for God's sake!"

"Vendetta, vendetta!" Gino chorused again.

* * *

Cecil approached a small field of grass that grew in the otherwise lifeless yard, where he found about a dozen people sitting there, seemingly meditating. A small tree grew behind them. He stopped and cautiously cleared his throat, catching their attentions. They stood up and held their arms out, shielding the tree from any potential harm that could possibly come from the Terwilliger.

"Relax, you tree-huggers," Cecil said. "I come with great news." He looked around before continuing. "Tomorrow morning, we'll be outta here."

"And then we'll begin protests against the Satanists who plan to expand their territory into a wildlife sanctuary?" asked one of the environmentalists.

"Yeah, sure. As long as you help me and my comrades in disposing of the Simpson family, is that clear?"

"Yes! Dirt First does not tolerate those that build on land meant for the animals, claiming that it's their rightful territory!"

"YEAH!" the rest of the environmentalists chorused.

* * *

Bob approached the payphone again and inserted his last coin for the day. Dialing a number, he waited for the other end to respond.

"Hello?"

"It's me, Bob," replied the former stage-actor. "Everything's all set. Ugolín and Cesar have arrived."

"_Excellent_. Good work, Bob, good work. I shall inform our allies about this development at once."

The receiver hung up, as did Bob. He smiled in triumph and let out a malicious chuckle.

_"Soon,"_ he thought. _"Soon, revenge will be _ours_. The Simpson family doesn't stand a _chance_."_

* * *

"It's me, Bob. Everything's all set. Ugolín and Cesar have arrived."

"_Excellent_. Good work, Bob, good work. I shall inform our allies about this development at once."

Charles Montgomery Burns hung up the phone and faced the ten other people sitting at the sides of the oblong table with him. They were Birch Barlow, the Rich Texan, Dr. Julius Hibbert, Helen Lovejoy, the Blue-Haired Lawyer, Krusty the Clown, Rainier Wolfcastle, Cookie Kwan, Lindsey Naegle, and Fat Tony. All of them were wearing expressions of anticipation on their faces as they awaited the news from their self-appointed leader.

"That was our dear friend Sideshow Bob," Burns said, putting his hands together professionally. "He has just announced the arrival of the two Frenchmen he had been in contact with, Ugolín and Cesar Roux. Some delay, but the operation is sure to go underway, Republicans."

The ten other Republicans let out a collective sigh of relief; there had obviously been a lot of tension leading up to this moment.

"What a relief!" exclaimed the Blue-Haired Lawyer. "And to think, we thought those Frenchmen couldn't pull it off!"

"But they did," Burns replied. "Now, Springfield is closer to being a literal city for the Republicans!" He smiled and shifted his head a little. "Don't you agree, Mr. Kurtz?"

Kurtz stepped out of the shadows, smiling.

"Yes, Mr. Burns," he said. "I'd agree fully well. Like you always say: _excellent_."

* * *

**A/N:** So, it looks like there's also a scheme to take over the town! And characters we know are involved!

Don't fret, everyone, the Simpsons will reappear in the next chapter.

I'd like to thank those who reviewed:

**damonika2009:** You'll see. ;)

**Narfy:** Well, I picked the later seasons for a reason you'll have to learn on your own. What you need to know now is that you must pay attention to the facts... ;D

Two reviewers? Well, I DID update very late. Hopefully it'll change with this one.

Well, hope you enjoyed this chapter! TheCartoonFanatic01 is out. PEACE!


	4. Familial Discomforts

**A/N:** Sorry for the long wait, everyone. Internet access went out for nearly a week, and I had finals to study for. But now, the computer's been fixed, and I got the finals out of the way, which means more Simpsons for you guys! YAYZ! :D

Before I begin, I would like to announce to those of you who don't know that I have canceled "Return to Springfield" due to scheduling issues and a lack of inspiration for continuing the story. Sorry for the inconvenience, everyone. On the bright side, I've decided to not permanently delete the story, unlike the other "Simpsons" stories I've discontinued, and you can now enjoy this story wholly! :D

Enough Grandpa-style rambling! On with the story. ENJOY!

* * *

Marge Simpson was currently on cloud nine right now. She had just celebrated her tenth anniversary with the man she loved more than anything in the world, Maggie finally seemed to be making attempts at saying her first word, and Bart's eleventh birthday was coming up. She let out a contented sigh as she wandered through the aisles of the grocery store, gathering food and drinks that were needed and crossing out items included in her checklist. This year had been a really long year; it might as well been actually twenty-four years that have passed. The blue-haired mother started humming as she walked into the next aisle, pushing a cart that was holding the items she retrieved, along with her youngest daughter Maggie, who was sucking her beloved red pacifier with devotion.

She stopped dead in her tracks. Standing in that same aisle was the last person she wanted to see. Smooth brown hair, formal-looking clothing, handsome face, and (even though she didn't see this attribute in action) gentlemanly and understanding attitude, Ben would've been the perfect man for her. She would have run off with him when she had the chance. After all, they had similar interests, especially in a certain TV show called _Upton Rectory_, and both were dissatisfied with their marriages (Ben obviously much more than Marge). However, she loved Homer and knew that she couldn't do that to him. And now that he was here, still interested in her, Marge prepared to turn around and walk away.

Too late. Ben seemed to sense her like a predator sensing its prey, and glanced at her. He smiled his handsome smile, causing Marge to sweat.

"Marge!" he called. "Marge, it's _so_ great to see you! How _are_ you, Marge?"

"Good, thank you very much," Marge replied kindly, still sweating nervously.

"I see you've come back to me. Have you changed your mind about Homer and decided to run off with me?"

Marge's eyes widened in horror and surprise, and she frowned disapprovingly. "NO! Absolutely NOT! I _love_ my Homie, no matter what kind of stupid, embarrassing acts he does. So, no thanks, Ben" She blinked. "...And I can assume that you are still unsatisfied with your wife."

Ben sighed angrily. "She called _Upton Rectory_ the worst show in existence!" he exclaimed. "I...I couldn't bear with it anymore. I-I divorced her..."

Marge's jaw dropped open as the news hit her with the force of a sledgehammer. "WHAT?!" she cried, so loudly that other customers turned their heads towards her. "How could you DO that? Last time I saw you, you two were actually close to getting over your differences and reconciling!"

"We _were_, but that attempt failed miserably in the first week. Then, she insulted my show, and I divorced her. I'm not gonna lie; she seemed very pleased about it." He looked as if he was gonna cave in with his misfortune. "I-I'm very _lonely_...I have no one who loves me..." Ben looked into her hazel eyes with a sickening devotion that made Marge even more nervous than ever. "...No one...except _you_..._Marge_..."

Marge stepped backward. "I'm sorry, Ben," she replied. "I will only love you as a friend. I still love Homer, and there's nothing that could be done to change that. Sorry, Ben, but I cannot return your love. Now-" At this point, she noticed that Ben's clothes were quite grimy and shabby. "-you need to find a shelter, Ben. There's one that is near Moe's Tavern downtown. Go there, and tell the employees that Marge Simpson brought you here. Goodbye, Ben."

The blue-haired woman pushed her cart away in the opposite direction, not daring to look back. She could still feel Ben's gaze, now shocked, bearing down on her. She felt bad for him, naturally, but she also knew that by personally offering help to Ben might encourage him in thinking it was a subtle way of returning his love. And she knew, with all of her heart, that Homer was the one for her. The one she'd spent the rest of her life with, till death.

* * *

Bart Simpson entered the school cafeteria, holding a paper bag that held the lunch made by his mother in one hand. He glanced around the cafeteria in search for his friends. It didn't take long for him to identify the trademark blue hair and dorky red glasses that belonged to his longtime friend, Milhouse Van Houten. He walked up to the table Milhouse was sitting on; also there were his other friends, Richard Gray, Lewis Jackson, and Nelson Muntz.

"Hey, guys," the ten-year-old said.

"Hey, Bart," replied Milhouse, always so devotedly. "My goodness, today's lecture was SO boring!"

"Yeah," Lewis added. "Who in the world _needs_ to learn about the colonial times?"

"Nerds, that's who," Richard said, scoffing.

"Agreed, school sucks," replied Bart, sitting down between Milhouse and Nelson. The five fourth-graders began eating their lunch in silence.

Just then, Nelson's eyes widened as he remembered something, and he clapped Bart in the back.

"Oh, by the way," the bully said, "happy birthday, Bart."

"Thanks, man," replied Bart, his chest swelling up in pride. "In about a week, Bart Simpson is gonna become eleven years old!" His eyes widened as an idea came to his mind, and he smiled mischievously. "Hey, maybe we should celebrate this happy occasion!"

"Yeah!" Richard exclaimed. "But how?"

"I think I have a good idea on how..." Bart sneakily glanced at a certain eight-year-old with starfish-styled hair and an orange strapless dress.

* * *

Lisa Simpson found herself walking towards an unoccupied table _again_. She could just sit down at a table where other students were sitting, she didn't have to bother to socialize with them. But that was exactly the problem. Even if she didn't _want_ to socialize with anyone, students still distanced themselves from her as if she was a leper or something. One of the great repercussions of being the smartest student in Springfield Elementary School.

She couldn't help being smart. It was a part of her nature from the start. She guessed it all originated when she was left to change her own diapers after Homer was busy getting himself drunk, or strangling Bart in a fit of rage. But Lisa had become so reserved to fueling her intelligence, to ensuring that she had a successful future, that she didn't bother to socialize with the other students. A social life didn't seem important to her until the second grade; it had always been academics that had to come first and foremost. Sure, there were times were she got herself friends, but they all abandoned her for someone better.

The second-grader silently glanced at a particularly energetic table as a loud, girlish squealing suddenly erupted from it. Sitting there were Alex Whitney and her many friends, including Janey Powell, Becky Sparks, Wanda Kensington, and Allison Taylor, all of whom were _her_ old friends. Unfortunately, they all abandoned her for Alex and her glamorous lifestyle and 'mature' personality. They didn't seem to have any reluctance or pity on their part. They just..._abandoned her_.

Lisa sat down at the empty table she was headed for. Sighing, she emptied her paper bag of the lunch her mother made for her. It consisted of a veggie sandwich, a bottle of grape juice, and an apple. She took a couple of bites from the apple and then started drinking her juice, all the while closely watching Alex and her friends as they continued to gossip among each other without a care in the world. Oh, how she wished to have friends like that, friends who appreciated her for who she _is_...

Something pelted the back of her head, and she yelped out in surprise, dropping her juice in the process. Twirling around, Lisa growled at the sight of her brother, who was laughing his lungs out alongside his friends, clutching a straw. She grasped a strange wet object that she could feel on her head and looked at it. Identifying it as a spitball, Lisa threw it onto the floor in frustration and disgust, stood up, and faced down Bart with all of the intensity that she could muster.

"Bart, I'm eating lunch here," she growled. "I don't have time for _this_."

"Come on, Lis!" exclaimed Bart innocently, smiling the mischievous smile that was his trademark. "I think you need something to take your mind off of the situation. I'm always seeing you looking at Alex and her friends. I mean, it's not surprising at all, considering that you're always sitting on a table, all alone..."

Lisa clenched her teeth, her fists balling up menacingly. She held onto her ground firmly as she continued to stare at her brother with the most furious expression.

"Leave my social life out of this," she snarled.

"What social life?"

"**ARGH!**" In a blind fit of rage, Lisa pushed Bart to the floor.

"HEY! WHAT THE HECK, LIS?!" snapped Bart.

"I'M SO TIRED OF YOUR TROUBLE-MAKING, BART!" Lisa screamed, catching the attention of everyone else in the cafeteria. "LEAVE ME ALONE!"

She prepared to run out of the cafeteria in tears, but she accidentally slipped on the juice she dropped and fell to the floor in a comical fashion. Everyone burst into an uproar of laughter, some students pointing their fingers at her. Lisa looked up, her face drenched with grape juice, and stared at the crowd of students in anguish. Her heart snapped into two upon identifying Alex, Janey, Becky, Wanda, and Allison as among those making fun of her.

Lisa burst into tears, stood up, and ran out of the cafeteria as fast as she could, almost slipping on the juice again. Upon entering a lonely hallway, she leaned against a wall and collapsed, wiping her face of the juice and crying silently. For an eight-year-old girl, she found her life extremely depressing. No one at school ever liked her, and even if they did, all that would ever happen, sooner or later, was that these people would always be taken away from her...

She stuck her hand into a pocket in her dress and procured a folded sheet of paper. She unfolded it and looked into the cursive handwriting.

_You are Lisa Simpson._

Lisa burst into tears, crumpling the piece of paper and leaning her forehead against it.

_"Oh, Mr. Bergstrom,"_ she thought sadly, _"if only you were here. I need you right now..."_

* * *

Homer Simpson was snoring loudly as he lazily sat on the chair of his station at the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant. The buttons on the advanced dashboard that was before him blinked all around him, almost illuminating him with tiny pockets of light.

Just then, a ringing permeated through the room, awakening Homer from his slumber; the rotund Simpson began randomly fiddling around with the devices in a honest attempt to look busy. The droning voice that belonged to Waylon Smithers addressed him, much to his dismay.

_**"Homer Simpson, please report to Mr. Burns's office at once."**_

Before the intercom went out, Homer could've sworn he heard a sinister chuckling. However, he dismissed it as another so-called evil act exhibited by his employer and stood up with the utmost reluctance. He walked out of his station, unaware that the following meeting was the first of many events that would turn his life around...

* * *

**A/N:** And here we are, the newest chapter of this story! We are introduced to the internal conflicts that the family will suffer throughout the story! And what exactly is the meeting gonna entail? Only you'll find out by staying tuned in! :D

I'd like to thank those who reviewed (can't answer reviews right now, sorry):

**Da Darkest Knight**

**damonika2009**

**Sideshow Cellophane 26**

**Son of Whitebeard**

**Pudgemounain**

**Narfy**

Well, hope you enjoyed this chapter! TheCartoonFanatic01 is out. PEACE!


	5. A Dastardly Escape

**A/N:** Again, sorry for the long wait, everyone! I've been off on a road trip with my family, Narfy knows about it. But now, I am able to dish out the newest update! :D

ENJOY!

* * *

A single bus drove across a lonely road stretching into a vast field, its weak frame vibrating due to the uneven street. The bus's engine sputtered nastily, and it issued foul fumes into the atmosphere. However, it would not do much to affect the plant-life, for all of the plants the field hosted had already withered into hollow, drooping, lifeless skeletons of their former selves, giving said field a bleak view of empty shades of brown. On the bus's side was the words 'SPRINGFIELD PENITENTIARY'.

Inside the bus, Sideshow Bob sat on a torn, uncomfortable seat as he silently and closely inspected the rest of the occupants. There was the driver and the two prison guards defending the front of the bus, the only means of escape. There was his family, all seated in their seats, all looking back at him with understanding looks. There was Junior, Julia, Goofy (as he liked to call the thief), and the Dirt First members, also sitting patiently. There were also about another dozen inmates, all of whom had no sort of feud with the Simpson family and therefore were of no use to their cause.

The stage-actor glanced out of one of the bus's windows and saw two large masses of rock, both standing on each side of the road. He grinned widely, knowing that the plan was being unfolded accurately. He looked back at his compatriots and nodded knowingly at them, and they all nodded back in understanding. Their exchanges didn't go unnoticed by the prison guards, however; one of them stepped towards Bob, the nearest inmate.

"What's up with the nodding?" the guard barked, his brow furrowed in suspicion.

"Oh, nothing that would ever concern you," Bob replied with an implacable tone.

The guard frowned and aimed his rifle at the criminal, pressing the firearm's barrel against his cheek. However, Bob was undaunted by the threatening gesture. In fact, his lips curved slightly into a smirk that suggested pure amusement from his part.

"I do not like your tone, Terwilliger. You are a repeat offender, always with something up your sleeve."

"Oh, nothing's in my sleeve. I wouldn't worry about my sleeve, anyway, or any other factors you'd find in this bus. What I'd worry about is the external factors."

The guard let out a hollow laugh as his partner watched on suspiciously. "External factors, eh? Would you mind using proper English, please, Terwilliger?"

"External factors mean objects that are outside of the bus." Bob's smirk widened as he clutched his seat and held on tightly. "Such objects you should worry about at the present moment would happen to be the explosives planted on the two rocks, the ones sitting on the sides of the road."

The guard's eyes widened in horror the moment he noticed Bob's current position; he was bracing for something. The other guard then noticed several of the inmates holding onto their seats as well. Both guards raised their rifles as the other un-involved prisoners watched fearfully.

A second later, the rocks exploded, sending large slabs flying everywhere. Its frame being sprayed by dust and smaller pieces, the bus swerved violently at the driver's command, but one of its wheels was suddenly slashed by a flying rock. Unable to handle the pressure of such a sudden swerve with just three wheels, the bus slowly fell onto its side with a deafening crash, sending the inmates (except for Bob, his family, and their accomplices) and the prison guards falling to said side. A fire quickly erupted on the engine, quickly engulfing the bus's grille and now licking against the cracked windshield.

As if on a cue, three shady men appeared from the shelter of one of the rocks and sprinted over to the fallen bus as fast as they could. One produced a blowtorch and quickly activated it, pressing the white-hot flame against the roof and creating a hole big enough for a person to climb through. Once it was finished, the piece quickly fell away, and Bob climbed out, followed by his family, then their compatriots. Bob smiled a welcoming smile at their saviors.

"Ah, Ugolín, my dear lad!" he exclaimed. "You have well exceeded the expectations I had in you!"

"It's always a pleasure to serve a common enemy of Bart Simpson," the Frenchman replied.

"Likewise. And I assume this is your dear old uncle, Cesar."

"Mr. Terwilliger," Cesar greeted formally.

Bob nodded back, and then stared at Ugolín and Cesar's companion, a nasty-faced man with curly brown hair.

"Jacques, it was so generous of you to take in our dear allies."

The bowler nodded in response and looked at the two Frenchmen. "Anything for my dear cousin and uncle."

"So, when's the chopper coming, man?" Junior asked excitedly.

Bob inspected the dusty wristwatch he was wearing. "It should be coming _soon_..."

A moan suddenly issued from the bus, and everyone watched as one of the prison guards, the same one that threatened Bob, crawled out of the hole in the roof, his hand clutching his stomach, which was oozing a dark-crimson stain. His other hand held a pistol.

Bob smiled as Goofy kicked the guard in the torso, causing him to drop his firearm. A Dirt First member picked it up and aimed it at the guard's head; the man looked up at the barrel fearfully. His pupils darted towards Bob, who knelt down towards him.

"Another example of an external factor," he explained, "would happen to be this gun my dear friend is armed with."

"To the protection of the environment!" exclaimed the Dirt First member as he aimed the pistol at the guard's leg and fired a single shot. A split-second later, the street asphalt was sprayed with blood; Gino giggled maniacally and sadistically as the guard cried out and then slowly fell unconscious from the loss of blood.

Soon, just a couple of minutes later, a whirring sound permeated through the air. The group looked up and watched as a Boeing CH-47 Chinook helicopter appeared in the sky and slowly lowered itself towards the ground. A large cloud of dust and dirt was kicked up from the two spinning rotors, forcing the escapees and their trio of Frenchmen to shield their faces. Once the chopper landed on the ground, Ethan Kurtz hopped out of the open door, holding a suitcase in each hand.

"Hello, ladies and gentlemen," Kurtz greeted, tossing Bob and Cecil the suitcases. "You all have five minutes to get out of those dirty clothes. Then, the escapees get in with me to the chopper. Ugolín, Cesar, and Jacques, you all take the car you used to get here and book it. We'll follow behind. The police should respond to the scene a couple of minutes after we leave, if all goes according to the plan."

The others nodded in response as Bob and Cecil opened up the suitcases, revealing civilian clothing. The prisoners all quickly changed their clothes and discarded the orange prison clothing, while Ugolín, Cesar, and Jacques sprinted towards a nearby sedan. Once the prisoners were done redressing, they boarded the helicopter with Kurtz, to which the chopper took off to the air and flew back towards Springfield, the sedan following close behind.

Bob grinned in malicious triumph as he watched, through a grimy window, the overturned prison bus, now half-engulfed in the blaze, slowly became nothing more than a burning speck in the far distance. The criminal mastermind then turned to Kurtz.

"So, what's the plan now?" he asked. "We go after the ones that have wronged us so?"

Bob's query attracted hungry stares from the other escapees. However, Kurtz smiled craftily and shook his head.

"Oh, my dear Bob," he said in response, "if only it were so _simple_..."

* * *

**A/N:** I know, short chapter is short. But I promise, the next few chapters will be longer!

In the next chapter, we'll learn of what happened between Homer and Mr. Burns...

I'd like to thank those who reviewed (cannot answer reviews right now):

**damonik2009**

**scolecite**

**Narfy**

**Sideshow Cellophane 26**

Well, hope you enjoyed this short chapter! TheCartoonFanatic01 is out. PEACE!


	6. DISCONTINUED, SORRY!

Alright, everyone, I'm back! And unfortunately, I have only bad news.

As with EVERY OTHER GODDAMN "SIMPSONS" STORY I'VE WRITTEN, I am cancelling this. I just don't have the inspiration to continue this anymore. Plus, due to my lack of inspiration and also the fact that I have lost interest with the Simpsons (the last season felt especially terrible and very deterring), I have decided to officially retire from writing "Simpsons" stories. I just can't seem to pull off the same devotion to my stories as I did with "The Thompsons".

I'm very sorry if my announcements upset you all. I am pretty sure Narfy will be upset; she's always been so encouraging and never likes it whenever I cancel something that was potentially very awesome, and in such short notice. Sideshow Cellophane 26, you too, no doubt; you've been my other devoted reviewer.

I understand all of the emotions that would result from these announcements, but please, do recognize the fact that I have to move on. I wanted to post other stories in other fandoms, but that goal was always put on hold due to my determination to try and finish my current stories, including those that I absolutely have no inspiration in continuing at all. I need to expand my interests, and I've learned long ago that sometimes I need to make a little sacrifice.

So yeah, sorry. I'm officially retiring from writing here. However, I will stop by occasionally and review stories. And I'm still gonna be active in Generation Yellow, Narfy, do not worry. But otherwise, I'm gone. I'm sorry, everyone, but I gotta be moving on now. I wish the best to you all, and I wanna thank everyone for their support that I've received throughout my stay here, and I wish them good luck for their careers.

TheCartoonFanatic01 has left the building! PEACE!


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